Chapter 6 #2
He hated like hell to turn her down, but he could see that a few days at the Bar None would be a nightmare as people continued to mistake him for Hastings.
He pushed back his chair. “Thanks, but I’d better leave first thing in the morning.
In the rush of coming out here to deliver Sir Lust-a-Lot’s last legacy I forgot about your Brian Hastings connection.
Chances are everyone would react the way Emmy Lou did.
I’d rather not put myself through that.”
Jo nodded. “I understand. Emmy Lou, would you please show Quinn his room? I need to go out and check on Betsy and Clarise before bedtime.”
“Come along, Quinn.”
Under Emmy Lou’s reproving glance, Quinn felt like a misbehaving schoolboy. He silently followed her up the stairs.
“ I don’t think it would kill you to do what Jo’s asking,” she said in a very schoolmarmish tone.
“That’s because you’ve never been surrounded by a hoard of women who wanted to rip your clothes off.”
Emmy Lou sniffed as she continued up the stairs. “I’m sure you’re exaggerating. Why, I thought you were Brian Hastings up until recently, and I never once considered ripping your clothes off. All I wanted was a button from your shirt.”
“See? It starts with the buttons. What harm’s in that?
Then we run out of buttons, so somebody wants a sleeve.
Then somebody wants my belt. Then it’s strip city.
It only takes one person to start it off, and before I realize it I’m surrounded.
I try to tell them they have the wrong guy, but do they listen?
Not when they’re in their Brian Hastings crazed mode.
There are at least twenty women walking around this world with a button or a sleeve or a back pocket of my pants, and all of them think their souvenirs came from Brian Hastings. ”
“And I suppose this all happened in New York?”
Quinn followed her down the hall. “That’s where I live.”
Emmy Lou stopped in front of a doorway and turned to him. “Well, there you go. It’s the too-many-rats-in-a-cage theory. They start eating their young or stripping their celebrities, whatever is handy. Out here we have room to stretch out. We’re not so snappish.”
“You just admitted you wanted one of my buttons!”
“Well, not now! Who wants the button off the shirt of an investment banker?”
Quinn was irritated. He couldn’t decide which was worse, the loss of privacy when he was mistaken for Hastings or the blow to his ego when women finally accepted that he was only Quinn Monroe, investment banker.
“I don’t understand what women want with those trophies, anyway.
Do they mount that button and shine a spotlight on it?
Do they frame that piece of sleeve? Do they arrange my back pocket in a vase on the coffee table? I don’t get it.”
Emmy Lou cleared her throat and glanced at the ceiling. “Some might sew the button on a piece of velvet and embroider the person’s name under it and frame it. If that someone really had a button from Brian Hastings’ shirt, that is.”
“Like you, for instance? I suppose your wall is full of framed buttons.”
“No, it isn’t. We don’t get many celebrities out this way. And it was just dumb luck that Georgina Mason was in the ice cream parlor when Robert Redford came in. She claims he gave her the button, but it would be like her to pop it right off his shirt when he wasn’t looking.”
Quinn couldn’t help smiling. “That’d be hard to do.”
“Not for Georgina. She’s the sneaky type. And she’s such a showoff — has that framed button over the fireplace, where the whole world can see it.” Emmy Lou gestured toward the doorway. “So here’s your room, Benedict Arnold.”
“Emmy Lou, nobody would believe me after the first five minutes! In New York it’s different, because there are no horses for me to fall off of or cows for me not to rope.”
“Cattle. Brian Hastings wouldn’t say cows.”
“That’s my point!”
“We could teach you. Jo and I could whip you into shape in no time.”
“Forgive me if I don’t relish the sound of that.”
“Okay. Be a coward. Bathroom’s across the hall. If you were staying I’d hunt you up a change of clothes down at the bunkhouse, but I guess that won’t be necessary.”
Quinn vowed he wouldn’t be baited into saying something he’d deeply regret. “Why couldn’t you just take one of my buttons and claim it came from Brian Hastings’ shirt?”
Emmy Lou looked shocked. “Because it would be dishonest!”
“Dishonest? You and Jo want to tell the entire town of Ugly Bug that I’m Brian Hastings, and you’re worried about fudging on a button?”
Emmy Lou clucked her tongue in disapproval.
“It’s not worth lying just to spite Georgina Mason.
But I’d lie from now until doomsday to save the Bar None for Jo.
” Her pointed stare indicated that she thought he should have the same missionary zeal.
“Why, I—” She paused and cocked her head. “Somebody’s downstairs with Jo.”
Quinn heard the voices, too. Jo was talking to a guy, and from the sound of her voice, she wasn’t too happy about the conversation.
“It’s that Dick!” Emmy Lou said, almost spitting out the words.
“Would that be a first name or a description?”
Emmy Lou’s eyes twinkled at him. “I do like you, Quinn.”
“I like you, too.”
“Dick Cassidy is Jo’s ex. One of the worst things she ever did was marry him, and one of the best was to divorce him. All he wanted, besides the obvious, was access to Ugly Bug Creek so he could water his cattle.”
Quinn didn’t like thinking about some guy enjoying the obvious with Jo. “The creek the town’s named after is on this ranch?”
“Yep. At least the best stretch of it, and none of it runs across the Cassidy ranch next door. He put her through hell during the divorce proceedings while he tried to hang on to that water. We can’t prove it, but we think Dick had something to do with so many of the cattle dying last winter.
I think he was stealing the hay she put out for them.
Besides that, he might have made off with some money, but Jo’s not the best bookkeeper in the world, so she’s not sure. ”
Quinn’s protective instincts surged to the fore. He tried to tamp them down, knowing they’d get him into trouble. “So why did she even let him in the door?”
“Oh, he always has some good reason he has to be let in. Last time, he came to report a break in her fence line, which I think he created. The time before that, his truck had broken down on the main road. The code of the west says you help out your neighbors, so Jo helped him. I say he’s finding excuses to nose around and see how bad Jo’s hurting.
He’s already offered her a lowball figure for the ranch. ”
Quinn glanced through the door into his bedroom, taking note of sturdy oak furniture and what looked like a handmade quilt on the bed. “Okay, you’ve shown me where I’m sleeping.” As the voices downstairs rose in volume, he glanced at Emmy Lou. “What do you say to a cup of coffee before I turn in?”
Emmy Lou beamed in approval. “I’d say that’s a great idea.” She led the way downstairs.
As they approached the kitchen, Quinn could make out the conversation much better.
“That section of fence was fine yesterday,” Jo said, an edge to her voice. “Somebody’s cutting that wire.”
“Now who would do a thing like that? You think I want your bull trampling my cook’s garden?”
“If it means I have to pay restitution for your specially ordered designer veggie plants, yeah, I think you’d love to have my bull running around in your cook’s garden!”
Give him hell, Jo. He stepped into the kitchen behind Emmy Lou, but the five-foot-something housekeeper didn’t block his view of the proceedings.
Dick Cassidy faced the door, while Jo stood rigidly with her back to it.
Cassidy had soft, fleshy features that might have been cute when he was a kid and would look ridiculously juvenile in another ten years. Quinn hated him on sight.
Cassidy’s reaction to Quinn was exactly the opposite, however. His eyes widened, and he broke into a goofy grin. “Well, I’ll be damned. You’re a sly one, Jo.”
Jo turned toward the door and caught sight of Quinn and Emmy Lou standing there. Then she glanced at Dick. “It’s not what you think. This is—”
“As if you have to introduce the guy.” Dick pushed past her and stuck out his hand.
“Dick Cassidy. I live on the neighboring ranch. I’d like you to come over and take a look.
You might even like it better than the Bar None.
The buildings are newer, and we’ve been able to keep up with painting and such better than Jo has.
Well, you have to excuse her. A woman alone can’t be expected to stay on top of everything. ”
“I like the rustic look.” Quinn even hated Cassidy’s handshake, which felt clammy.
“Then we can sand some of that paint off!” Cassidy said. “You name it, and we’ll do it.”
“Dick, let me explain,” Jo said. “I know what you think, but this is—”
“Brian Hastings, of course.” Dick pumped his hand. “I’ve seen all your movies. Damn good flicks, if you ask me.”
Quinn had about three seconds to decide whether he could live with himself if he allowed this sorry excuse for a man to continue to ride roughshod over Jo. He decided in two. “That’s good to hear,” he said. “Which one did you like the best?”